Logs:Be Good
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| RL Date: 28 November, 2015 |
| Who: Quinlys, T'gar |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Rat wants to know why he got a silver thread. |
| Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 5, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, L'ton/Mentions, Lys/Mentions |
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| Weyrling class is being let out for the day with a train of both weyrling and dragon heading out into the bowl. Normally, T'gar and Asaroth would be seen immediately vanishing somewhere in the lake shore's vicinity where the bronze could be seen to linger, but this day, only Asaroth heads on towards the shore. T'gar waits right by the door, as if he's expecting someone in particular to emerge. Quinlys' duties tend to keep her in the office for some time after the end of the day's classes, but it's a common enough thing for her to step outside first, and especially in spring when the weather is, if not warm and sunshiney, not actually cold. Thus, it's about ten minutes after dismissal that the bluerider emerges into the bowl, peering up at the sky as if to gauge the chance for rain rather than paying attention to anyone who might be laying in wait. The minute that familiar redhead steps into the light, T'gar is there, angling from the side to face her. Large arms coming to a fold before himself, he nods in the direction of her office as he says, "Hey there. Ma'am. Red. Think I could borrow you for a moment?" It's almost playful, but mostly couched in a tone of casual neutrality. Quinlys turns on her heel at the sound of T'gar's voice, positioning herself more directly in front of him. Her expression is neutral, though those red brows raise at that nickname as if to say: Really? But that's followed quickly enough by a nod that sets curls to bouncing. "Weyrling. Of course." She gestures back inside, back towards that office, though she's already asking, "What's this about?" Following on her heels, and haven't caught that expression, there's a splash of humor in T'gar as he drops, "You can't have the 'Ma'am' without the 'Red', though, I relish the day when I can drop just the one." Once to her office, he leans against a chair as he answers her last with a lift of that silver thread and a brisk, "I get why you gave this to the others. They make a lot more sense than giving this to me. I want to know why." It's matter-of-factly spoken, the bronze weyrling idly fingering the silver strand. Quinlys' snort of laughter at least suggests she's amused by T'gar's naming scheme, even if she's not inclined to pursue it further. Once in the office she turns, arms crossed in front of her as she stands, listening. "Can you think of any reasons why I might have?" she wants to know, turning the question back upon the weyrling. "I know the reason I want and the reason that's likely more true," is what Rat answers her with, settling against that chair. "You tell me." Quinlys taps her fingertips against her arm, studying Rat evenly. Abruptly, she smiles. "Do you think you were given it because of the colour of your lifemate?" she wants to know. "Or, perhaps, as a way to keep you out of trouble by piling you up with extra work?" Rat shakes his head, his blue gaze leveled on her. "The first one didn't cross my mind," he admits behind a slow smile. "Won't lie and say that the second one hasn't. Is that what you're doing, Weyrlingmaster? Trying to keep me out of trouble? To keep me from flirting with you, even, by giving me more work to do?" Blandly; "It's not out of the realm of possibility, is it?" But Quinlys' expression is too smug to suggest anything is as simple as that. "I'm surprised that the whole bronzerider thing didn't occur to you, though," she says, continuing evenly. "Asaroth could catch Niahvth, one day, or a queen that follows her. Wouldn't you say it would make sense for our young bronzeriders to be at least semi prepared for something like that?" "I've heard somewhere that you're not very fond of bronzeriders," Rat states, perhaps in answer to the first, and in question of the silver thread. Only, "I am a nice guy, if you get to know me, ma'am. Red. I won't be a weyrling forever." Yes, he's bold. To all the rest, there's a brief look towards the door with a sniff. "If that's the truth," he says, meeting her gaze once more. "Where's L'ton? Why Lys instead of him? If it's really all about the color of our dragons' hides." Again, Quinlys' brows raise; again, it's for the boldness of T'gar's remarks. But she's otherwise busy being smug, and pretty deliberately not answering his questions. "From memory, bronzeriders have, traditionally, no more than a fifty percent chance of being chosen under my leadership. So no, perhaps you're right-- it's probably not that." Then, abruptly, "You impressed the Weyrleader, you know." That Quinlys doesn't answer his questions, that gets T'gar set in quiet laughter along with an angled look going to her. He doesn't even look daunted by it. He seems a little bit smug by him being right about something, but some of that smugness fades in light of her abrupt last. One shoulder shrugs mechanically as he answers with, "I did nothing but be me, and I couldn't offer him much help, considering. I'm sure there's weyrlings in my class he's more impressed with than me." Pause. "Are you pleased?" "Me?" That surprises Quinlys. "You ask that as if I don't have the final decision on who ends up in my program." "I ask that as if I'm trying to figure you out," Rat answers her evenly without pause. "I ask because it is your program. If it's not because of Asaroth, then it's because of me. I'm flattered the Weyrleader should remember me, though. You said that as if it surprises you that he should be impressed with me, Weyrlingmaster." Quinlys' smirk suggests she's amused by Rat's attempt to figure her out; amused, and presumably quite comfortable. Surely she is impossible to define. "How often do you see K'del talk to weyrlings?" is what she says. "You made enough of an impression to be worth comment. To be remembered." Her fingers flatten upon the forearm they're resting upon. And, "You don't intend to be a wingrider forever. Isn't it more important that you use the opportunity, than question too much on why you got it?" Eyes slightly narrowing at that smirk, "Other guys seem to get along just fine with me," Rat says that like it's fact. "It's the women here that's a different story." Beat. "I'm curious, is all," he adds, hands briefly spread. "There's always a reason, and that's of interest to me. You're right. I don't intend to be a wingrider forever. That's only an added bonus." "Because we're independent? Because we expect to be treated as real people?" Quinlys' questions are more curious than pointed. "You're not wrong that I think you should be kept busy," she adds. "But that's not the only reason, or even the primary reason, for why you were included. Which means there are expectations on you, weyrling. Something to live up to." Hands pressing to his chest, "Hey, I've treated you as a real person," Rat says so expressively. "Even when you were trying to kick me out of a place that was open to the public for egg-viewing pleasure. You know, I'm independent and expect to be treated like a real person, too." There's a thin-lipped look for him being kept busy, but on the last, "Incentives would do wonders for living up to those expectations, too," is his response, arms folding once more. "But I'll be good." 'For now' doesn't seem to be too far off, but it's likely felt rather than heard. Again, Quinlys' brows raise; she's going for the trifecta. What she says, however, is simple: "Incentives. Incentives." She's holding back a smirk, but just barely. One hand is waved, now, towards the door. "Go. Be good." "Incentives," T'gar echoes without apology. "Like a date. A kiss. First dibs on weyrs when it's time for them. A bottle of the finest Benden whiskey upon graduation. Those are just mere examples." Right. Just so. Still, he straightens up from the chair with one of his smiles, a nod going towards the door as he angles that way and says, "I'm well aware that you didn't answer my question, you know," he states walking backwards towards the door with a two-finger salute. "Keep dreaming," is Quinlys' advice to the first. And to the rest? No. She's got nothing more to say. |
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